Love Triangle
by NeedTheDark
Summary: Set post 2X19 Leonard Caul - Liz has been spending time with Tom after the shooting, which Red doesn't like at all. When Red and Liz finally reunite, Tom falls apart, taking Liz with him. Can Red control his emotion enough to help her?
1. Chapter 1

After this amazing episode it seems to me that there is a rather twisty love triangle developing – Red and Tom both love Lizzie. What happens in the weeks after Red's shooting? Will be shortish multi chapter fic.

Liz crossed the car park of her dingy motel at after 9pm. Her shoulders ached from having been hunched over her desk all day. There had been nothing but paperwork since the shooting. It was early days, but Liz was already starting to resent the calm after the storm. She felt powerless in her office, waiting for news, for something she could get her teeth into.

To make matters worse, the warehouse, her lack of contact, the information that came to light regarding her knowledge of the fulcrum – she realised her colleagues were finding it hard to trust her, and it hurt. At least in the field she knew where she was. Much as she had been flung into the field the day Reddington had walked into the post office, she now found it difficult to cope without the adrenaline surge she got when she was out there. Reddington. There hadn't been a whisper from him since he had been discharged from his secure wing at the hospital.

Instead, she had made do with clandestine meetings with Tom. He had promised her information, and although he always made himself available to her, so far she had received only snippets. Mostly about nefarious deals brokered by Reddington, but nothing that seemed to relate directly to her. The truth was they were getting closer. He hadn't said anything, but at times during their meetings she saw the way he looked at her and wondered if he thought he still had a chance with her. For a second she wondered it herself. But she couldn't love him after everything he had done to her, could she? The person she fell in love with didn't exist. He was dreamed up by _him. Reddington._

Red. Ray. Reddington. She cursed her brain for throwing out all his names, as if her subconscious was telling her she had conflicted feelings towards him. After all this. She had to admit to herself that there had been times in the past when one look from him was enough to make her feel lightheaded. But then the truth came out about the Fulcrum, and Tom. And then she had held him while his life drained away and she suddenly felt as though she was losing everything.

As she approached the door to her miserable motel room her stomach clenched. The fedora was unmistakable. He was leaning nonchalantly against a sedan in the lot outside her block. She felt a flood of relief to see him on his feet, but it was tempered by frustration. The last time she had seen him he had looked her in the eye and admitted that, after all this, he was still hiding who she was from her.

He turned as she approached and gave her a soft smile. "Lizzie" he greeted her by widening his arms slightly, as if to say 'look, still standing!'.

She wrapped her arms around herself and approached him warily. "You're ok." She said flatly.

He laughed softly. "I hope you're not too disappointed." Then his face became serious. "I am ok, and in no small way that's because of you. Dembe told me everything. You were extraordinary, Lizzie." He paused. "And you must have questions."

She closed her eyes for a second, as if his words had hurt her. "What do you want, Reddington?"

Red nodded slightly and turned his head away. "You've been spending a lot of time with Tom." It wasn't a question.

"And?" she said incredulously. She saw his jaw clench fractionally as he turned back to face her.

"And unfortunately he's been whispering in your ear, about me. My business. I am concerned that dear Tom is insinuating himself into your life again with the promise of answers he cannot provide."

Liz felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. Not only had he been spying on her, not only was he refusing to tell her the truth, he was now trying to block the only other chance she had of finding out about her past. She let out the breath she had been holding in a hiss of air.

"No. You do not get to make decisions for me anymore" she said firmly. "You put Tom in my life, now you have to deal with the consequences. Goodnight." She turned and started towards the door, feeling a slight pang as she recalled what had happened the last time she walked away from him. She wondered if he felt it too.

Red made a sound that was almost a growl. "Trust me I've been dealing with the consequences of Tom Keen for far too long already." He said through clenched teeth.

Liz continued towards the door.

"Lizzie! I'd rather you heard the truth from me now than were put in harm's way by Tom's lies." His voice was tight.

That stopped her in her tracks. She turned. "Why should I believe you now?" she whispered.

"I told you I would never lie to you. It's time. I'll give you as much as I can."

As Liz regarded him it occurred to her for the first time that Dembe was nowhere to be seen. Had he really come alone? Now? She cast her eyes around the lot.

"Did you drive yourself here?" She asked, still scanning the immediate area.

"Yes." He said simply, offering no explanation. She snapped.

"For God's sake! They are after you more than ever now! You were shot in the chest a couple of weeks ago – what the hell are you doing coming here alone?" She clasped her fingers behind her neck as panic began to seep in. "How long have you _been _here?"

He didn't answer, only tilted his head slightly and gave her a small smile.

She rolled her eyes. "You'd better come in before we have a repeat of last time."

"Yes that would be a good idea wouldn't it" he responded playfully.

As they stepped into the small room it occurred to Liz that somehow he had managed to make her feel guilty for keeping him waiting, endangering him. As though him being in her parking lot was her fault.

Red set his hat down on the dresser and sat in a chair near the door, regarding her thoughtfully.

"Would you like some tea?" Liz said a little helplessly.

"How about something stronger? I'm sure this establishment has a fine selection of bargain-basement spirits that will help loosen my tongue" he said dryly.

Liz raised an eyebrow and disappeared into the kitchenette. She returned with two tumblers of amber liquid and handed one to him wordlessly. He took a sip and a warm smile spread across his lips. Scotch. And definitely not bargain basement.

"Lizzie you certainly know how to make me feel at home."

"You certainly know how to make yourself at home" she responded with a weak smile.

It was small, but it was something. He recalled her distraught features when he had admitted to hiring Tom. Her panic as she had held her scarf to stem the flow of his blood. It had been a while since he had seen her smile, especially at him.

Liz sat on the edge of the bed with her tumbler, curling one leg under herself. For some inexplicable reason she felt comforted by his presence. Neither spoke for a while.

"I thought you were going to die." She said quietly.

His eyes softened and he lent forward. "It's alright Lizzie. I'm here. And I've survived worse!" He chuckled somewhat hollowly.

"Am I supposed to find that comforting?"

"No. You can take comfort in the fact that whatever happens to me you will be protected."

She sighed and after a second could no longer maintain eye contact, suddenly feeling trapped by his gaze. She had waited a long time to get answers, but now she felt paralyzed. She wanted to ask why, why he cared. But she realised that now it was within her grasp, she was afraid of the answer. She shifted on the bed.

"The director. When I saw him, he said I looked like my mother."

Red's eyes narrowed slightly. "That you do".

"Did you know her?"

"Not well. But enough to know you were everything to her."

"She didn't leave me? I thought she left me. I thought they both did." Liz fought back a sob, knowing she sounded like a little girl. "I saw her picture in your flat, holding me on the swing." Her voice cracked. The more she struggled to control her emotions the more they swelled to the surface. She closed her eyes and brought a hand up to her face to stem her tears, but before she realized he had left his chair, Red had caught her hand and taken it between his own. He sat on the bed beside her, holding her hand, stroking it with his thumb as the tears began to roll silently down her cheeks.

"Lizzie. Look at me."

She gave a quiet, shuddering sob, but could not meet his gaze.

Keeping her hand in his, he raised his other hand to her face, tucking her hair behind her ear and gently lifting her chin until their eyes met. She looked at him through thick dark lashes, her impossibly blue eyes swimming with tears.

"Lizzie have no doubt. You were loved. You are loved."


	2. Chapter 2

Her eyes widened as she processed what he had said, his soothing tone, the depth of feeling his eyes seemed to show - in that moment she felt surrounded by more love and warmth than she could remember. It was both comforting and confusing, and spoke to a desire she had been denying even to herself… but most of all it was all-encompassing. She swallowed and closed her eyes, wanting to keep the moment for as long as she could. No secrets or painful revelations, only love. She was physically and emotionally exhausted, gripped by a deep-down tiredness that binds people who have been alone for too long.

He seemed to understand without her having to say anything; when he drew her gently to his shoulder she didn't resist, only savored the feeling of his strong arms around her, his soft kiss on her hair. She wanted answers so badly, but, she thought foggily, he had been right – she didn't even know what she wanted to ask him yet. She had a feeling that the only concrete question she had so far was being answered right at that very moment, in the way he spoke to her, held her. And that was enough. At least for tonight.

In the shadows outside the motel room window, Tom Keen's eyes were glazed with fury as he watched his wife lean into the arms of another man. And not just another man - _Reddington._ The man who had put him in her life and then told him to keep his distance. The man who had shown him just how good his miserable, dangerous life could be and made him watch what he couldn't have from the shadows. And when he finally got that life, Reddington had poisoned her mind and corrupted everything they had shared together. But none of that was worse than knowing that she had gone willingly into the arms of someone so much darker than Tom had ever been.

The pain of that was unbearable. Tom had spent years feeling unworthy of her, trying to be good for her, trying to put the blood he had spilled behind him, to bury the darkest part of himself, just so he could make love to her without picturing the women who had died at his hand. And now she knew who he really was, he had helped her, confessed to the harbor master's murder and stayed for her, hoping against hope that she might be able to accept his past.

She was so different now from when they married. The job had changed her, he had thought, possibly into someone who could love him for who he really was. His time spent as her captive may have been bleak, but it had also taught him to hope. He knew the real reason she hadn't killed him was because she still loved him, and he clung to it like air in his lungs. It also showed that there was darkness in her too, perhaps a place where their souls could connect for real.

After Reddington's shooting, Tom had come to her more and more frequently, unable to stay away, offering her information just so he could spend time with her as himself after years of playing a part. He studied her each time she looked at him, for a sign that they could move on together. Now the moment had finally come where he thought they were connecting, and he arrived at her motel to find her with _him_, a man so corrupt he would destroy her, utterly devour her until there was nothing left of the woman he fell in love with.

He wouldn't nurture her goodness like Tom had, no. He would expose her to the worst the world had to offer until she finally broke, and Tom wouldn't let it happen. He turned away from the window, his breathing quickening as a plan began to formulate in his head. Tom Keen was going to fight for his marriage the only way he knew how.

In the motel room Red leaned slowly back against the pillows, gently bringing Lizzie's tired head to rest on his chest near the spot where the bullet had entered him weeks earlier. He stroked her softly between her shoulders with his thumb, and marveled to himself that he felt no pain for the first time in days, as though her very touch was healing him. He couldn't lose her now. The thought gripped him as he remembered the reason for his visit; the specter of Tom Keen was not only putting her in danger, it was also an impediment to this – whatever this was.

Deep down he knew he should leave now and never see her again. She deserved so much more than him, and the peril a life with him would bring. He also knew human nature well enough to recognize the danger in the feelings he had for her. Once she gave herself to him – and he knew that she eventually would - he would never let her go. God, Sam would roll over in his grave if he knew the thoughts Red was having about his little girl. He opened his mouth to do the right thing, to explain, to tell her she was better off without either Tom or him. But when the words came out, all he said was

"Promise me Lizzie. You must never see Tom Keen again."

She stirred against him and murmured, half asleep.

"I promise Red. I trust you. For some reason I don't know why, I trust you."


	3. Chapter 3

Note: T rating remains but there is some strong language. As ever I don't own the blacklist, just test driving the characters!

A week later Lizzie returned to her motel room in the evening after a boring day spent in the office, much as she had the night Red had come to visit her. This time though, her heart felt lighter. She hadn't seen him since that night – he was still recuperating and tending to business that had been neglected in the aftermath of the shooting – but he had called her. Several times, actually. The first time it had been a short call, both perhaps a little unsure of what to say. They hadn't acknowledged anything, and she wasn't sure she was ready to.

But the next time, that was different. It was quite late - she had been in bed staring at the ceiling waiting for sleep that would not come when 'Nick's Pizza' buzzed on her phone screen. Perhaps it was because she had been thinking about him, or the fact that it was late, but different rules seemed to apply. God how they had laughed; how he had made her laugh. She thrilled him with details of her teenage misadventures, throwing in a few titillating references to naïve teenage sexuality which made him grow hard thinking about her losing her innocence.

He delighted her with stories of his and Dembe's travels – "_No word of a lie Lizzie!" _he had said animatedly._ "We went into the back room and there was none other than the commissioner himself struggling to get the bra off before his guards arrived - well it was more of a corset really, you know, all silk straps and hooks – so I told him I would be happy to oblige, having some experience in these matters, but I'd need him to support my choice for governor. Quickest deal I've ever done_."

The truth was that the commissioner in question had failed to come through for him when the time came, and had died of a heart attack shortly after. At least that's what the papers said, and what his wife believed. But Lizzie didn't need to know that. All he wanted to hear was her clear, enchanting laugh ringing like a bell in his heart.

When Liz returned to her motel that night, she was relaxed, thinking back on their conversations. She closed the door and threw her bag on the bed. She wondered if he'd call again. Or better yet, perhaps he would visit. As soon as she had the thought she shook her head, shocked at the admission that she wanted to see him.

That wasn't something she could afford to admit to anyone, even herself. Her reverie was broken by a knock at the door. Her heart started beating faster. As she went to open the door it didn't occur to her that it would not be him on the other side. Perhaps that's why she didn't react in time when Tom Keen's arm wrapped around her neck as he entered her room, immobilizing her and closing the door behind him.

She struggled wildly but she had already lost her advantage; he was stronger and therefore her slow reaction time had cost her dearly. "Tom what is this, what are you doing?" she gasped out.

"Settle down Liz" he responded calmly. "It's time we had a discussion about our marriage."

Before she could respond, he had placed a pungent, chemical-smelling cloth over her nose and mouth which pulled her quickly into darkness.

When she woke, she was lying on a sofa with her wrists and ankles secured tightly with cable ties. It was her sofa, she realised, from their old house. Working her way to a sitting position she looked around and saw other familiar things – their dining table, the lamp where he had hidden the key, the cushions she had chosen, photographs of them together. She was in the house they shared for two years. But as her eyes adjusted to the relative gloom, she realized that there was something very wrong with the scene.

The ceiling was too high. Her sitting room rug was there, in the same position as it always was, but there was no carpet. The floor beneath her feet was stone, rough and dusty. She looked behind her. Where the kitchen should be, an empty warehouse stretched out into darkness. Turning to survey the scene she saw that Tom had arranged their bedroom furniture in a corner, complete with alarm clock, matching nightstands and what had been her favourite quilt on the bed. It chilled her to the core.

She heard footsteps echoing in the dark, and Tom appeared a moment later. He flashed her a warm smile and bent down to kiss the top of her head. "Welcome back sleepy head!" Then his expression turned to one of concern. "You know this job is really taking it out of you – I'd like us to talk about getting away for a while. Maybe getting you into a job with more regular hours. Honestly I don't know how we're going to care for a baby with you working like this!"

"A baby?" Liz blinked, attempting to get a handle on the situation. "Tom, I'm sorry I haven't been in touch this week. I just realised that I needed to prioritise my job over my own need for answers. I was being selfish." She saw Tom's face darken as she spoke.

"You're right Liz, you have been selfish." he said in a low voice. "But it's not too late to fix our marriage. I'm going to give you a chance to redeem yourself."

"Our marriage?" Her head swam with confusion. What had happened to him? This wasn't the Tom she had been working with last week. And who was he to accuse her of damaging their marriage? He was the fraud! He had ruined everything. Somewhere between anger and panic, she lost her temper.

"How dare you!" she hissed. "Our marriage was a sham, and that's on you Tom. I didn't even need a divorce – I just had it annulled. The law says it didn't mean anything!"

Tom's eyes narrowed and his hands started to shake faintly. When he spoke his voice was so filled with emotion that the Liz of two years ago almost wanted to reach out to comfort him.

"Screw the law. It meant something to me…it meant everything to me. And you betrayed me."

"I betrayed _you_?" she said in disbelief.

"I stayed faithful to you, your nice loving school teacher husband, while you had a sordid affair with a _criminal_ – scratch that - with one of the most dangerous men in America! Admit it Liz - you let him manipulate you and everyone at the FBI, and then you let him fuck you, you dirty little _slut_."

"Tom!" She gasped, genuinely shocked. "You're talking about Reddington?" Tom didn't say a word but as she looked up at him from her position on the sofa she saw confirmation in his eyes. "It's not true Tom. I haven't. We haven't - " she was reeling, searching for a way to explain, when Tom's palm collided with her cheek.

The blow knocked her sideways on the sofa and tears sprang to her eyes – tears of both shock and pain. Part of her still couldn't believe her sweet, loving husband could behave like this towards her. Even when the truth had come out, she believed that he had always been himself with her, at least in some ways.

The moment she let out a single sob he sat on the sofa next to her, gently caressing the line of her cheek bone where he had struck her. His voice softened.

"I'm so sorry Liz. Please forgive me – that was inexcusable. The truth is I saw you with him at the motel and...and it just hurts so much" he choked.

She began to whisper "but we didn't - " when he pressed his finger firmly against her lips. "No Liz, no more lies." He cupped her chin with his palm. "Don't worry - you're going to make everything right again tonight."

TBC!


	4. Chapter 4

Note: I don't own the Blacklist. Also, although there is nothing explicit I feel I should warn readers that this chapter has suggestions and elements of non-con.

Liz's heart began to pound as she looked at him. She had always been able to see Tom Keen, or some element of him, in his eyes. But now they were scarily vacant. He continued cheerily "We're going to have dinner Liz, Chinese – your favourite. We'll make some time for us - open some wine, have a chat, see where the mood takes us…" As he spoke he produced a cell phone from his pocket – her phone. "But before we eat, I just need to make a quick call." He kissed the top of her head before standing and walking away.

Red sat in an armchair flipping through the latest batch of accounts and reports when the door opened and Dembe walked in, holding out a phone wordlessly, his expression grim. Red took the phone and looked at the number. He smiled and held the phone to his ear. "Lizzie!" His smile faded as he looked up again at Dembe, who was shaking his head.

"Sorry, _Liz_ isn't available at the moment. I thought it was time we had a chat."

Red tensed, a lump of iron seeming to form in his stomach. Where was she. Why did he have her phone. He motioned to Dembe and mouthed _'get to the motel'_ – the bodyguard was out of the door in a heartbeat.

"Tom… what can I do for you?"

"You can stop screwing my wife."

Red thought he might be sick then and there. What was going on? He needed to get him talking, figure this out. He responded as jovially as he could:

"Oh if I had a dollar for every time I heard that I'd be a richer man than I am!" But then his voice hardened. "But I am not, as you so indelicately put it, _screwing her_, and furthermore she is no longer your wife, so let me ask again: What do you want from me?"

There was a pause. "I want you to suffer like I have. To know what it feels like to lose her." Tom said quietly. "I want you to sit there in whatever fancy house you're staying in knowing that she's with me. I want you to know she'll never be yours, Reddington."

Red closed his eyes.

"I know that you love her Tom" he said gently. "That's how I know you won't hurt her." He hoped with every fibre of his being that he was right.

When Tom's response came his voice sounded uneven, almost hysterical. "Why would I hurt her? She's my wife! You're the only one who hurts her!" Red felt the swirl of guilt twisting uncomfortably inside. He certainly wasn't the only person who had hurt her, but he was a front-runner. When he spoke, he kept his voice calm and practical.

"Tom, it's not too late to stop this. Leave now, and I can get you out of the country with a new identity, plenty of money… how about Belize, Tom? A lovely beach front property. You can start over."

Tom laughed hollowly.

"We both know it's over for me, Reddington. I'm not getting out of this alive. If the Germans don't get me, you will. Now if you'll excuse me, I plan to spend one last night with my wife." He hung up.

Red sat speechless with the phone in his hand. He knew the most dangerous men were those who felt they had nothing to lose. It occurred to him bleakly that the man known as Tom Keen had functioned perfectly well as a ghost and impostor his whole life, but it was real life – real love -that had pushed him over the edge. Red knew something about that. He started dialing and put the phone back to his ear:

"Yes… I need everything you have on Jacob Phelps, AKA Tom Keen. I want to know everywhere he's been over the last few weeks, aliases, places he's rented, travel, receipts…I need everything. Get it to me within the hour. And I can't emphasize this enough - the life of someone very important to me is at stake here. If I lose her, you will also lose those who are dearest to you. Our fates are now intertwined. Have I made myself clear." Red hung up without waiting for the answer.

At the warehouse, Liz did her best to work her hands out of the plastic ties, but Tom had done them up cruelly tight. She quickly gave up trying to free herself. If she was going to get out of this, she would have to use her head. She flinched when Tom returned, take-out bags in hand from her go-to Chinese restaurant. He set the bags down and tossed her phone on the table, before pulling up a chair and sitting in front of her.

"I just had your buddy Reddington on the phone" he said casually. "I suppose you're expecting him to come for you" he said, his tone turning sour. "Think again Liz. I've spent most of my life learning to cover my tracks. He won't find us. Not tonight." Tom laughed quietly. "In fact, he didn't seem too bothered when I told him to stop screwing you. Maybe he doesn't care as much as you think." Tom paused, gauging her reaction. "You know, he offered me a new life – new identity, money. Isn't that a fine thing." He shrugged as he spoke, giving her vacant smile.

Liz steeled herself, squashing down the feelings of mortification erupting at the thought of Tom accusing Red of sleeping with her. Of Red bargaining for her. Tom had always claimed to be able to spot her tells. She was going to have to give the best performance of her life. She took a deep breath.

"This isn't about him, Tom. This is between us. Everything happened so fast… we didn't get a chance to talk properly about us, our marriage." She saw Tom's eyes brighten a little. "I meant what I said, Tom. I know it wasn't all pretend. We loved each other. And, I think, we still do. These past weeks with you… I've learnt so much about you – the real you, I mean. I wish I'd known that guy before."

Tom smiled and raised his eyebrows incredulously. He almost looked like her husband.

"You've had a difficult life, and I'm sure you've done terrible things. But that isn't who you are. This isn't who you are…Jacob" she said gently, holding out her bound wrists.

He looked conflicted. "How can I believe you still feel anything for me?"

She tilted her head and gave him a smile – _that smile_ – the one which he had always craved, the one which said_ I love you unconditionally. _It was the smile which had always made it through to Jacob, and not just Tom. He looked at her affectionately for a moment, before standing up. "You must be starving – let's eat."

He scooped her into his arms and placed her at the table. He smelled the same. Like Tom. It suddenly occurred to her that he had never carried her before. Not even on their wedding day. After she was seated, he took her hands carefully in his, and cut the cable tie holding her wrists with a pocket knife. Watching her closely, he decanted the food onto their plates, before opening the bottle of wine on the table and pouring them each a glass. "To us" he said tightly before taking a gulp. Liz took a small sip before setting the glass back on the table.

Whilst Tom tucked into the dinner, she struggled to get anything down. She felt sick to her core. "Have a spring roll" he said, conversationally – "you always loved to hog them." Liz smiled. From her position at the table she could see the bed – their bed – in the corner, dark and threatening. She had little doubt what his intentions were. She was surprised to find that, alongside her overwhelming fear, she felt desperately sorry for him. All the times they had made love, for years, he had known it was a lie. She swallowed.

"Tom?" He looked at her intently. "I need to know – why did you push so hard for us to have a child?"

He looked down for a second, and then back at her. "I didn't want it at first. But I loved you. And you wanted a child." He paused. "And then… I wanted a chance to have a real life. To be a better parent than mine were. To put something good out there for the first time in my life." Liz had no doubt that every word was true, which made what she had to do next so hard. This was her chance to get the upper hand.

"It's not too late Tom. We can still do this. No lies, no aliases, just us." She whispered. For a second he looked so unsure, almost like a child. But then the mask was back in place.

"You're telling me the moment I come over there to kiss you you're not going to try and head-butt me?" he said smiling sadly. She shook her head slowly, staring into his eyes. "Despite everything, I still love you Tom."

He stood and walked towards her, bent down and searched her face with his eyes. After a moment, he lent forward and touched his lips to hers. She didn't move, or tense up. He slipped his hand behind her head, deepening the kiss, and she responded then, teasing his tongue with her own. He broke away from her and laughed gently, as happy and carefree as he had ever been when they were married. He pushed her jacket from her shoulders and tossed it aside, before sweeping her into him arms, carrying her and sitting her on the bed, kissing her forehead.

"Tom…" she said gently, extending her legs in front of her, indicating the ties on her ankles.

"God I'm sorry babe, let me help you." Tom cut the ties and rolled her onto the bed, kissing her neck, his hand slipping between the folds of her blouse.

Liz felt bile rise in her throat, and tried desperately to keep focused. She was untied now; she just needed to hang on for the right moment. It was no different from the rest of their marriage really, she thought. A fake romance. Except now she knew it. Now she wasn't an unknowing participant. She was an unwilling one. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest she was sure he would hear it. As Tom buried his face in her neck and hair, she reached slowly behind her until her fingers met one of their matching lamps from the night stand. Steeling herself, she brought the base down on his head and hard as she could.

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

_Note: Reminder to readers that this is a darker Lizzington fic and this chapter contains violence and themes which may be upsetting._

Tom collapsed on top of her, groaning, blood streaming from the cut on his head and seeping into the white silk of her blouse. Liz's level headedness vanished into a haze of adrenaline and she used all her strength to roll him off her, before scrambling to get off the bed. Lying down she felt frightened and vulnerable; she needed to be standing. She swung her legs to the floor and darted for the table where Tom's jacket hung over a chair - she was sure it contained a weapon. As she moved she felt a rush of air behind her as Tom kicked her feet out from under her, groaning in pain and swearing at her as he did so. She landed hard on the stone floor, but managed to roll and right herself. Tom stood before her ready to pounce, blood oozing from the cut on his head. He blinked as the blood stung his eyes, and she launched herself forward, slamming her elbow up under his chin. The difference in their heights made the blow less effective, and he kicked her hard in the stomach, sending her staggering backwards. As he approached her she grabbed his shirt collar and brought her knee up hard, but he used her weight against her, ducking and rolling her over his shoulder, slamming her to the ground.

She was momentarily stunned, and he was kneeling over her before she had a chance to recover. He grabbed one of her wrists and pinned it above her head, blocking her attempt to punch him with her free hand. He knelt on her thigh, using his weight to hold her whilst he wiped the blood from his eyes, smearing it across his features in the process. Perhaps this was his true face, she thought as waves of panic hit her – a cold mask of blood. But after drawing his arm across his face, it was unmistakably Jacob Phelps who looked down at her, like a hurt, rejected and angry little boy.

"You lying little bitch" he seethed, shaking his head. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Let me go Tom, please" she said as calmly as she could. She flexed her body slightly to check how much – if any – leverage she could get to escape. He leant down on her harder, and she thought of the bruises this would leave. She wondered whether she would be alive to see them. "Tom" she said, breathless with fear and adrenaline. "We were married for two years – we loved each other. Don't do this."

Tom's eyes were unfocused and he was breathing hard. The wound on his head was continuing to seep bright red blood. When he spoke his voice cracked, unable to conceal his hurt. "Yes, we were married. But you forgot that, didn't you? You gave up on us before you ever found out about me. When did it start, Liz? Did he seduce you? Or was it the other way around? Did you throw yourself at him? I guess those daddy issues run pretty deep" he said spitefully, choking back tears.

Her cheeks burned with shame and tears pricked her eyes. No, she and Red hadn't slept together. But she wanted to. She couldn't deny it to herself anymore – she was falling in love with him, and now it might be too late to tell him. "Please don't" she whispered through a haze of tears. "Please Tom, please stop." She looked up at him beseechingly and saw that he was failing, his face pale with blood loss and streaked with tears. He looked down at her with eyes as sad as her own before leaning down and whispering in her ear "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She heaved him away from her, and this time she was able to reach the table. Her hand closed around the gun and she pulled it from his jacket, spinning round to aim it at him where he lay on the floor, her hands shaking.

He looked up at her with his bloody face and puppy-dog eyes and her lower lip trembled as she gripped the gun. "Do it, Liz" he said. "But look me in the eye when you do." He smiled faintly, reminding her of the last time he had spoken those words to her. She had let him live then. As she stood over him she thought of her husband, and of the lost teenager recruited into something he wasn't old enough to understand. She let out a sob and shook her head. She began to back away slowly, keeping the gun trained on him whilst grabbing her phone from the table and making her way towards the door. No matter what he had done, she could never bring herself to kill the man known as Tom Keen.

As soon as Liz felt the cold night air on her face she began to run. She followed street lights in the distance, pounding the pavement until she left the warehouse district behind her, stopping only when she reached streets with shops, lights, and a few people even at this time of night. She leaned against a building to catch her breath, willing herself to stay upright. She looked around her; she knew he couldn't have followed her at that pace with his injury, but she felt the need to check all the same. When her breath returned, she took the phone from her pocket and shakily began to dial.

She had expected Dembe to answer but it was Red. He sounded angry. Angry and terrified.

"Tom you listen to me…"

"It's me" she gasped.

"Lizzie! Oh thank God, thank _God_. Are you alright? Where are you?"

"Yes" she choked, still trying to slow her heart rate.

"Sweetheart tell me where you are" he said, his voice soft but urgent.

"There was a warehouse, I ran…." She breathed. She looked around her. "I'm on the corner of Rhode Island and M"

"Hold on…. There's a church, St Matthew's, do you see it?"

Liz walked on down the street glancing furtively about her and saw the enormous building looming. The saint etched in the stone front seemed to look down at her pityingly.

"Yes, I'm coming up on it" she said shakily.

"Go in now, and wait for me. I'm coming for you sweetheart." The line went dead.

When Red arrived at the church it was dark and draughty, lit only by the street lights outside and a few meager candles flickering in the vestibule. He saw the outline of her head and shoulders first; with her bare arms and white blouse she seemed to emit a ghostly light in the gloom. As he approached he saw her shivering and he slipped his coat over her shoulders as he sat beside her. She didn't move, and for a moment she seemed completely unaware of his presence. He reached tentatively for her hand, but withdrew with a sharp intake of breath as he noticed the deep purple welts on her wrists from where she was bound, and the bruises on her arms.

"Lizzie… Lizzie look at me." His voice enfolded her like blankets, his gentle tones amplified by the acoustics in the cavernous church. She slowly turned towards him, and his face darkened with concern and anger as he took in the deep bruise that crept across her cheek, and the red stains on her blouse. He reached out to assess her injuries - to check if the blood was hers - but she drew back away from him. Her blue eyes seemed even bigger than usual, and sharp with fear. Resisting a powerful urge to embrace her, he settled for meeting her gaze with a warm, determined stare of his own. "You're ok now. I promise everything is going to be ok. Come now."

She nodded wordlessly, and he rose, holding out his hands to help her stand. She stood of her own accord, instead using her hands to pull his coat around her more snugly. He walked her out of the church silently, out into the morning light where Dembe was waiting with the car. Red opened the door for her and then slipped in beside her. He was careful to avoid initiating contact, but before long he felt her head come to rest on his shoulder, where it stayed for the rest of the journey. He remained as still as possible, wishing her a deep, dreamless sleep in which she could forget all the terrible things that she had experienced in her life.

She was still asleep in the early hours of the morning when they arrived at the house, a pleasant, period building outside the city surrounded by a few acres of meadow land. She barely stirred when Dembe opened the car door and, with a nod from Red, gathered her into his arms with a gentleness that belied his apparent strength and carried her into the house. When Red entered behind them he was greeted by Mr Kaplan, who had somehow managed to arrive ahead of them and air-out the house.

"Take her upstairs, first door on the right. I'll be there momentarily" she said matter-of-factly. She turned to Red.

"She's in shock, Kate." Red's voice was even but his eyes told of the concern and helplessness he felt.

"A perfectly natural reaction" Mr Kaplan responded resolutely.

"I'm leaving her in your hands" he said seriously, his tone reinforcing all that implied.

"You're not staying?"

Red sighed. "Based on the information we got from my contact on Tom Keen's movements and Lizzie's location when we picked her up I have a pretty good idea where she was held. I'll be back as soon as I can, but right now Dembe and I have work to do" he said, his eyes flashing.

Mr Kaplan nodded briskly, knowing full well that her employer wouldn't rest while the monster that had done this was still at large. "I'll take good care of her. Be safe" she said pointedly before disappearing up the stairs.

Tom Keen was long gone by the time they reached the warehouse. It was now nothing more than a dark husk, a shell full of evidence that would torture Red's imagination. As he stepped inside through the iron door, his skin prickled. It smelled like fear in there. Like evil. Unfortunately, he was all too familiar with places like this. Places where the walls whispered of the atrocities that had been committed there, of the twisted minds of the people who had made use of the space. It reminded him of the darkened basement where he had found Dembe all those years ago, as an angry, abused boy. Dembe returned to his side, having cleared the area, and holstered his weapon. A look passed between him and his employer, before Red nodded silently and Dembe went outside to guard the door, leaving Red alone.

He surveyed the warehouse, taking in the furniture from her house, the dinner table… and the bed. His heart began to hammer in his chest. He began to walk slowly around, reading the scene like a horrible script. It was something he was good at. He had to be. He saw the sofa, cushions scattered around on the floor. It started here. Blood on the cover. She had been struck, hard. He turned to the table. Candles. Two wine glasses, one drained, one untouched. Food, mostly untouched. She hadn't cooperated. Or couldn't cooperate. He forced himself towards the corner with the bed. Her navy blue jacket lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Broken cable ties crackled under his feet. Two ties. Wrists and ankles. Clean cut with a knife. He'd needed her free for this part, he thought desolately. Quilt ruched on the bed. One pillow on the floor. Pieces of a shattered lamp. Signs of a brutal struggle. More blood. Whose, he couldn't tell. There was nothing there to help ascertain where Tom Keen might be now, and Lizzie had barely spoken two words so far.

He had seen enough. He turned and walked swiftly towards the door, stepping out into the harsh light. Dembe stepped towards him but he raised his hand to halt him, before moving around the side of the building. Once he was alone he bent double with his hands on his knees, staving off the wave of nausea that crashed over him.

_TBC_


	6. Chapter 6

Lizzie's ordeal is over, but Red's day is getting worse. Can he control himself for her sake? Disclaimed as usual. Please do review and let me know what you think!

When Red returned to the safe house, Mr Kaplan was emerging from the sitting room, Doctor's bag in hand and coat over her arm.

"How is she?" Red said quietly.

Mr Kaplan paused, regarding her employer carefully.

"She's going to be fine" she said, her expression unreadable.

"Kate… did she say…" He took a breath. "Was she…" Mr Kaplan cut him off, her voice gentle but firm.

"Raymond, some time ago you widened my brief to include protecting her. Today she became my patient and I am not going to discuss her condition with anyone but her. Even you."

Red opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it. Much as it pained him, he knew she was right. Mr Kaplan's expression softened as she walked towards him. She put her hand on his arm as she went to leave.

"Go in and see her. Talk to her. She was asking for you."

Red nodded. "Thank you Kate."

He summoned the strength he had left and entered the sitting room. She was sitting on the couch cradling a cup of tea, and sat up and smiled when she saw him. She looked so much more like herself than the ghostly shadow he had seen in the church. After her smile, the next thing he noticed was her clothes. She was wearing black sweat pants and a shirt, both his. They were enormous on her. She looked beautiful.

She tugged at the shirt with one hand. "I hope you don't mind…Mr Kaplan picked them out for me."

God bless Kate, he thought. "Of course I don't mind – you wear my clothes much better than I do."

She laughed quietly. "No one wears these clothes better than Raymond Reddington."

A ghost of a frown crossed his face. Was she flirting with him? Under any other circumstances this exchange would be one he would treasure. He pursed his lips and sat down in a chair opposite her and clasped his hands together. "Lizzie…" he began, but she interrupted him.

"This is your house, isn't it? Not a safe-house or somewhere borrowed?" Ever the profiler. He was impressed.

"Yes, Lizzie. It's a sanctum of sorts for me. Not a 'safe-house' but I can assure you that you are perfectly safe here. Now…" he said and then paused, unsure of how to begin this most difficult of conversations. "How are you? Are you hurt?" She leant forward and met his anxious gaze.

"Red, I'm fine. Really." He worked his jaw for a moment, unsure whether to push the subject.

"I've been to the warehouse" he said gently.

She nodded and looked at the floor. "I wondered where you were."

He felt a tremendous pang of guilt. It hadn't occurred to him that she would want him to be with her. "It must have been horrendous" he said quietly.

"Not the best date I've had" she quipped. Red was beginning to find her humour unnerving.

"_Lizzie_" he said, more sharply than he'd intended.

She put the mug down on the coffee table and looked him squarely in the eye. "Yes, it was horrendous. But I got away. I'm alright." Her tone was soothing, he thought, as though she was reassuring _him_. He realised she was trying to be brave for him. That wasn't right. He should be looking after her. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling helpless. Not for the first time in the last 24 hours he was reminded that it had been him who put Tom Keen into her life, to protect her of all things. He couldn't forgive himself. And he had to know.

"The bed." He said bleakly. "Did he…"

"No!" she cut him off, sounding emotional for the first time. "No Red. He…tried, but…no. I got away." she finished quietly, not meeting his eye.

Despite her obvious discomfort at his mention of the topic, the relief that washed over Red at that moment was indescribable. Relief and pride. He wanted to stride across the room and kiss her, but that would have been unthinkable. Instead he settled for allowing a small smile to cross his lips, and for telling her he thought she was remarkable. The blush that crept into her cheeks when he said that was adorable. But that was to be the last moment of comfort he would feel that evening.

"If you saw the place then you know he was trying… he was just trying to recreate our marriage" she said suddenly.

"That's not all I saw, Lizzie" Red said softly. "He hurt you."

She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, wincing in pain from where she had been slammed to the floor, and rubbed the scar on her palm unconsciously. It didn't go unnoticed by Red.

"At first I tried to go along with it. To placate him. But he was just so _angry._" She swallowed back tears as she spoke, still unable to meet his eye. "He thought…" she was blushing furiously now and Red finished for her.

"He believed that our relationship had become intimate" he said gently.

Liz took a deep breath. "Yes. He told me he called you."

"He did. It was not a pleasant conversation" he said tightly. "But one thing I don't understand is how he came to believe that we - "

"He saw us. At the motel."

Red's face clouded and he closed his eyes for a second, the implications of her statement creeping over him. He had indulged himself that evening and once again his feelings for her had endangered her. "I'm so sorry Lizzie. You can't begin to fathom how sorry I am." He fought the urge to say more. To say he was sorry for putting Tom in her life, sorry for failing to protect her, sorry for loving her and everything that went with that.

Liz shook her head. "We were married. It was between us and it was up to me to finish it" she said slowly.

Red's skin prickled. "Lizzie, where is Tom?" There had been no body at the warehouse, he thought. Blood, but no body and no shell casings.

"I don't know" she whispered, staring down at her hands.

"Look at me please. Tell me how you escaped."

She turned her eyes towards him with effort and began to speak. She recounted their fight, glossing over what Tom had said about her and Red. She'd grabbed his gun. And then she ran.

Red's eyes narrowed as he listened, the uneasy feeling in his stomach deepening. If she had killed Tom he would have known how to help her. But this was different. He attempted to keep an even tone. "If I understand correctly, you had a shot but didn't take it."

Liz nodded, staring back at her hands. "I know after everything maybe I should have done…but I couldn't. You know I couldn't. He never had anything real, Red. Anyone to love him – the real him, I mean. D'you know he told me he wanted us to have a child so that he could do something good. Leave something good behind. Give them a better life than his parents gave him. It was heart-breaking."

As she spoke, Red felt cold, blind rage growing inside him. To hear her sympathy for the man who had abducted her with the intention of raping her was too much to bear. To hear that she had once again spared his life. "On the contrary. It seems Tom is fortunate indeed if he has managed to secure your compassion after what he's done" he said, his tone dangerously quiet.

Liz drew her arms about herself, as if shrinking away from his coldness. "I'm not saying I forgive him" she said, defensively. "I just… I understand. The life he's had – he never had a chance. Last night… what he really wanted, however twisted, was just to be loved. Everyone deserves a chance at that."

Red stood abruptly, his mind swirling in anger. "All Tom Keen deserves is a shallow grave" he hissed. He saw her eyes widen and immediately regretted his inability to keep his thoughts to himself. She needed to talk, and he should have let her, even if every word out of her mouth was like a dagger in his heart.

"Red no" she whispered, panic creeping into her voice. She hadn't thought about what Red might do before now. She'd almost forgotten how dangerous he was. "Don't! Please don't!" He turned away from her and stalked to the counter, pouring himself a generous glass of scotch. His fingers squeezed the glass so tightly the blood drained from them.

"Red!" He turned as he felt her hand on his arm, and looked into her eyes, wide and pleading. When she spoke again her voice was shaky. "Please… he told me you offered him a way out. A new identity. I…. I know it's too much to ask…"

"And yet you are asking nonetheless" he said, drawing away from her, his voice like ice.

Her breathing quickened, tempered with the effort to control her sobs. "If he could just leave the country…I'd never have to see him again and he could start over" she finished quietly.

Red studied her tearful face for a moment. Despite everything that had happened in the last 24 hours, it was apparently he who had brought her to tears. Yet again. All he had ever tried to do was protect her, and she had rejected him, railed at him, vowed never to forgive him so many times. But _Tom Keen, _that revolting parasite tries to hurt her in the worst way and she's suddenly filled with understanding and compassion. Worse, she's pleading with him to spare Tom's life, as though _he_ were the monster here. He had always felt jealousy to be a base emotion, and yet, he realised, that was what he was feeling. And to feel it under these circumstances was vile, and certainly beneath him. He hated himself for it.

Taking a deep breath he walked to her slowly and took her in his arms as she wept, shushing her. He told her it was ok. That she didn't have to worry. He told her how good and sweet she was. She wrapped her slender arms around him, and he kissed her forehead, careful to avoid the bruise darkening across her face. When she had quieted, he released her and spoke softly.

"Lizzie you must be exhausted. It's time to go to bed. You'll stay here for as long as you like – this can be your sanctum too. And if at any time you want to leave, we'll find you a new place." He saw her stiffen a little and raised his hands in a conciliatory fashion. "I promise I won't interfere unless you ask me to. You choose the place. But no more motel rooms, Lizzie."

She nodded and smiled weakly. "Thank you Red" she said, and kissed him on the cheek before making her way towards the sitting room door. As her hand closed on the door knob she turned back to him. "Red?"

"Yes Lizzie?" Red braced himself for more protestations, for questions he couldn't – wouldn't – answer.

"Will you come and sit with me?" she said hesitantly.

He paused, not quite understanding, and not certain that it was wise to spend more time around her tonight in his current state of mind.

When he didn't answer immediately, she lowered her eyes. "Don't worry it's fine, I'm fine I…" she looked at him again through thick, dark lashes. "Just until I fall asleep" she whispered.

He nodded, painful understanding dawning on him. She was frightened and didn't want to be alone. He couldn't let his own petty emotions get in the way of him doing whatever he could for her.

"Of course Lizzie. I'll stay as long as you need. I'll be there in a minute."

"Thank you." She smiled gratefully and closed the door behind her. She didn't hear the sharp intake of breath as the tumbler cracked in his hand.

A few minutes later he knocked quietly on her bedroom door, his hand bandaged. He half hoped that perhaps she was already asleep. Or had changed her mind. But she responded clearly from inside.

"Come in Red."

He entered and saw her sitting up in bed, her knees drawn up to her chest. The bed was large and she looked diminutive propped up in the middle of the pillows. He fleetingly imagined what it would be like to climb in with her, to lie next to her warmth, just to hold her, and chased the thought away and quickly as he could

"You still want me to stay?" he said quietly.

"Please… you don't have to stay long. I'm so tired I'm sure I'll be asleep soon."

"I'll be here as long as you need me" he said, settling in an armchair not too far from the bed.

"Thank you. Goodnight Red." She smiled, before slipping down the bed and closing her eyes.

"Sleep well, Lizzie" he said, softly. He watched her carefully - the way her hair fell across the pillow, the rise and fall of the blanket with each breath. She was still wearing his shirt.

He had brought a book, which he opened; he didn't want her to feel he was staring at her. The words danced in front of him on the page - it was a prop, really. He couldn't read. He couldn't think. After a while, her breathing evened. He was sure she was asleep. He turned back to the book, the story just as elusive has it had been. He must have drifted off in the chair because he was startled some time later by a cry from the bed. He rose from the chair and approached her, realising that she was having a nightmare.

"No…Tom please…don't"

Red's fingers curled into a fist, digging his nails through the bandage into the cut on his hand in an attempt to channel his anger. He took a breath and sat beside her, reaching out to her with his other hand and gently stroking her hair.

"Ssshh Lizzie, you're ok. Everything's going to be ok."

She quieted at the sound of his voice, and after a while he returned to his chair where he kept watch over her till morning, his hatred of Tom Keen growing darker and more visceral with the passing of every hour. By daybreak, he had reached a decision.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N Ok this is the last instalment of Love Triangle! I wrestled with this, but I feel that this was the only right way to end it. I hope you agree, and I hope you've enjoyed it. I am so grateful for all your comments and encouragement, and my new fic '****_Sinnergirl_****' will begin soon. As ever, I don't own The Blacklist.**

In the end, Tom Keen was not difficult to locate. Red had initially expected him to have left the city as fast as possible - perhaps even the country - but no. According to his contacts, Lizzie's bastard ex-husband was right here in DC, a fact which whilst it made him easier to find, seemed like a personal affront to Red. The man had taken her right out from under Red when he was vulnerable from the shooting, highlighting his miserable inability to protect her. Red hated feeling weak above all else. Tom had subjected her to a prolonged, violent attack, the marks from which Red was forced to endure seeing blossom into deep purples and greens on her beautiful skin. He wondered about the marks he couldn't see, hidden beneath her jeans and shirts which Dembe had collected from her house. Worst of all, Tom had wormed his way into her head, manipulating her, preying on her generous spirit to the extent that she actually defended a monster who didn't deserve an ounce of her forgiveness. Red knew that he himself didn't deserve Lizzie's kindness or understanding, but Tom… Tom deserved nothing but her contempt.

Red cringed at the thought of the vulgar comments Tom had no doubt made to Lizzie about him and her relationship with him. Sugar-daddy. Slut. Lizzie's blush as she had fudged her way miserably through her account of what happened was proof enough of that. And now, Tom hadn't even had the decency to run, no, he was here, taunting Red with his presence, challenging him, and, by extension, threatening Lizzie. Red positively burned with hatred. And yet as he gathered his things he thought back to that terrible conversation with Tom in which he had told him he didn't expect to get out alive. Working for the Major, his marriage to Lizzie, the Neo-Nazi gang… Jacob Phelps had spent his whole life looking over his shoulder, and he was through running. Red understood. He almost respected it. And Lizzie. Lizzie had looked him in the eye asked him to get Tom a new identity. A fresh start.

When Red left the house that day, he left Lizzie strolling in the garden under the watchful eye of Mr Kaplan, who was under strict instructions to guard her and ensure that she didn't tire herself out, or worse, insist on going back to work before her injuries had healed. But today at least, that didn't seem likely. He watched her from a distance as she moved slowly through the wilderness at the back of the house, long grasses and wild flowers tugging at her calves. It would have been easy to hire a gardener to sort the place out, but somehow he had never been able to bring himself to impose order on the beautiful little wild patch at the back. Now it was as if every flower and vine had been grown expressly to curve around her, to offer her some peace or a small slice of beauty as she took sanctuary in the garden. As if sensing his gaze on her, she turned and offered him a small wave. He smiled and waved back, before summoning Dembe and turning away from the enchanting sight before him to begin the day's delicate business.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

Tom Keen exited an anonymous dive bar in downtown DC, a bandage roughly attached to the side of his head and an un-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. As he stumbled onto the grotty street illumined by weak neon light he was met with the sight of Red and Dembe, leaning casually against a black sedan outside. He stared at them impassively for a moment, before reaching into his pocket for a lighter, and igniting the cigarette. Red felt Dembe tense next to him, and moved his arm slightly to warn him off. He then reached inside his jacket and removed a large brown envelope, which he held up.

"New identity and a one way ticket to Belize, Tom. As promised."

Tom smiled humorlessly, before turning to glance down the empty street, his right hand twitching. As if sensing his thought process, Red continued quietly:

"You could do that, Tom. You could draw, but there are two of us. And you could definitely run - you might even get as far as, oh, two blocks before Dembe here caught up with you and put you out of your misery, which he's simply _itching_ to do by the way." Red laughed menacingly. "Truth be told he's quite indefatigable. And you've made yourself quite unpopular. In fact, now that I come to think about it he wouldn't so much end your suffering as cause you a great deal before he put an end to your miserable existence, so if I were you I'd consider your rather limited options carefully." Red paused, his eyes boring into the man in front of him. When he spoke again, his voice had softened. It was almost paternal. "Tom…It's time to go."

Tom turned back to face him. He took one last puff of the cigarette before throwing it down on the floor and stubbing it out with his heel. Then he nodded. As he approached the car, Dembe brought a large hand down between his shoulders, pinning him roughly against the car. Feeling under Tom's jacket, Dembe removed a Beretta from the waist band of his pants. Red straightened his hat before opening the car door for him, and he entered without another word. They drove for many miles in silence, out of the city, tall buildings yawning in the lowering sun and eventually giving way to grassland. Red stared straight ahead, his lips slightly pursed. Tom stole a glance towards the front of the car, and was met with a dark stare in the mirror from Reddington's hulking bodyguard. He turned back to look out of the window.

As dusk fell, the car drew slowly to a stop, a small road stretching out ahead and arching redwoods advancing thickly on either side. Tom considered the scene from the window and then turned to Red.

"I'm not going to Belize, am I?"

Red looked out of the window for a moment and then turned back to him.

"No, you're not" he said softly. "But then you knew that before you got in the car."

Tom nodded. Reddington seemed to know him better than he knew himself. The moment his hand closed over Liz's mouth that night he had known on some level that it was over. And Jacob Phelps knew better than to hope. There's no such thing as redemption, not really.

After a moment Red took a cell phone from his pocket and tossed it on the seat between them. "Call her. Tell her you're starting a new life. Tell her everything's going to be ok."

Tom looked at him in utter disbelief. "You've got to be kidding."

"I assure you I'm quite serious. You'll do it for her, Tom." Red's voice was low and even. Commanding.

Tom looked down at the phone for a second, working his jaw. He looked back at Red before finally grabbing the phone and starting to dial.

"Liz….Yes it's me, don't hang up. I just called to say I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant any of it….. I'm on my way to the airport now. Reddington came through – I'm going to Belize, Liz. I'm gonna get that boat. Everything's gonna be fine. You'll never see me again…I love you."

Red snatched the phone from him and hung up, replacing it in his pocket. He pulled a pistol from the folds of his jacket and motioned it slightly towards the door. "Get out of the car."

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

When Red returned it was nightfall. He saw the light in Lizzie's bedroom window shining into the darkened grounds of the house, cutting a path through the blackness. As he approached the front door he cast a momentary shadow, his fedora projecting a distorted image on the gravel. He closed the front door behind him and looked up to see that Lizzie had appeared at the top of the stairs. He smiled gently and removed his hat.

"Good evening Lizzie. I trust you had a relaxing day."

She came downstairs and he motioned for her to follow him into the sitting room.

"I did thanks. I have to admit, it feels good to escape. This is such a beautiful place. Peaceful, I guess."

Red smiled warmly at her. "I'm glad. The grounds, the air, the fact that there's no hum of vehicles or commerce for miles around. It's balm for the soul."

Moving to the drinks cabinet he looked over his shoulder at her. "Will you join me Lizzie? What can I get you?"

"Actually I would like to talk to you about something. But I'd better avoid the scotch – Mr Kaplan would be very unhappy, she's got me on some pretty crazy painkillers. She's kind of scary" Liz laughed softly.

Red tried to return her smile but it came out as more of a grimace. He couldn't bear the thought of her in pain.

"Agreed, Kate is formidable. But as with all my employees, your welfare is her top priority."

Liz blushed slightly, before giving him a quizzical smile.

Red stepped towards her, drink in hand. "Now, what did you want to discuss with me?"

She bit her lip. "Tom called me."

Red's face twitched slightly and after a moment he knocked his drink back in one go, replacing the glass on the table. "I see." He looked down at her face, so open and trusting. She waited for him to comment further, but when Red said nothing she continued:

"He's gone, out of the country, out of my life. He… He told me what you did for him – that you helped him start a new life. I know that can't have been easy for you to do. Again you saved this man you hate, for me." As she spoke she took a step closer to him, her eyes locked onto his. After a moment Red looked away, unable to hold her gaze. "You truly are a good man." She said softly. "And I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to see that. Thank you, Ray." She slipped her arms around him and he felt her press the softest kiss into his neck.

Red thought unwillingly then of the moment before he had put a bullet in Tom Keen's head. From his position on his knees, the younger man had looked him in the eye and said that he would never be rid of him. At the time he had put it down to the bravado of a man about to die. But now he understood what Tom had meant. Tom Keen's demise would be a dark secret he would have to carry – another secret he would have to keep from Lizzie at all costs. Now as he held her close and looked down into her soft blue eyes the aching sweetness of the moment was shot through with a bitter thought. He was a sin-eater. His soul would only grow darker, a cavernous pit surrounded by fire that would surely burn her the nearer she came to it. Slowly and tenderly he tilted her chin up and kissed her for the first time, certain of nothing other than this: they would burn together.


End file.
